As I looked, an Indian lifted one of the braziers and seizing the naked foot of the Tacuban prince, thrust it down upon the glowing coals.

For a while there was silence, then the Tacuban broke into groans.

Guatemoc turned his head towards him and spoke, and as he spoke I saw that his foot also was resting in the flames of a brazier.

'Why do you complain, friend,' he said, in a steady voice, 'when I keep silence?
Am I then taking my pleasure in a bed?
Follow me now as always, friend, and be silent beneath your sufferings.' The clerk wrote down his words, for I heard the quill scratching on the paper, and as he wrote, Guatemoc turned his head and saw me.

His face was grey with pain, still he spoke as a hundred times I had heard him speak at council, slowly and clearly.